


Five Things Clint Stole From The Russian Mafia And One Time Somebody Stole Him Instead

by GeekTriangle



Series: Clint Barton Bingo 2019 [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (the direct aftermath of Lucky's accident), 5+1, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton Bingo 2019, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, First Kiss, First Meetings, Gen, Human Disaster Clint Barton, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I use both futz and fuck, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, TW: harm to animals, meet ugly, prompt: Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekTriangle/pseuds/GeekTriangle
Summary: Clint practically stole his whole life from the Russian mafia, to be honest.Bucky just wants his stupid blonde back. No, not that one. The new one.





	Five Things Clint Stole From The Russian Mafia And One Time Somebody Stole Him Instead

**Author's Note:**

> TW: HARM TO ANIMALS, if you want to skip that part, stop reading when you come by 2. A dog, and start reading again by 3. A building.
> 
> So.  
> This was supposed to be around 2000 words. Just, you know, a little more practice with _feelings _before continuing my big story. Yet, this really got away from and was real fun and a real b*tch to write.__
> 
> Also, this is my first fill for the Clint Barton Bingo! I knew what the +1 was going to be and noticed the kidnapping square on my card and was like _score_
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

  1. **A Friend**



The dim Amsterdam street lights reflected faintly in the dark cobblestones. The rain, which had started as a hellish downpour, had reduced to something a bit more than a drizzle. From somewhere further away the sounds of the city echoed into the shadowed alley. Mixed in with the sound of the rain and cars was that of their panting. The blood that sluggishly dripped out of his side felt warm as it crawled down in his leg. In front of him, the Black Widow was leaning against the wall. She was clutching her arm. She was barely standing upright. Despite his exhaustion, his arm didn’t tremble as he kept the bowstring taut, the sharp tip of the arrow glinting dangerously as it caught the light.

“Конец это, Ястреб.”

“ _End it, Hawk._ ” 

Her normally silken voice was tight and determined, yet, the anger he had been expecting was missing. She didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she looked at him and then tipped her head backwards. The rain fell gently on her brow, sliding past her hairline and down her pale neck. The Black Widow didn’t fear death, she wasn’t the one to look away at the last moment. He’d seen her stare down far more dangerous things than him and she had never looked away. Maybe, he thought, in her last moments she wanted to see something else than death, which she had seen so much of in her life, maybe it was all she had ever known. Perhaps she was looking for something else in the night sky. Something, something a bit more bright than her life had been.

In a flash he was back in their little farmhouse barn as Barney cradled him, saying words he couldn’t hear anymore. He was back in the ditch next to the highway, an arrow still sticking out of his shoulder and he was dying. He was back on the rooftop, feeling disconnected as he walked away from his first body. He was back, sagged against the railing of the fire escape, bullet buried in his thigh, staring down the suit and not yet quite ready to die but accepting it either way. He had been tired, and if death was the way to end it then so be it.

Looking at the Black Widow he was tired all over again. He lowered his bow.

“Hey.” His voice sounded like gravel. “Wanna go for some coffee instead?”

Thirteen months later Natasha, born from the ashes of Natalia, smiled coyly as Phil dumped him next to her on the couch in his office. He had been drunk. Wasn’t weird, seeing how long they had been drinking, and how much. Strike team Delta had completed its first op and sent a whole weapon ring toppling in on itself. The reason that that had happened was because they had stolen the whole goddamn shipment and let the two sides blaming each other.

“I’m just a good thief, Phil. Circus thought me well.”

“It’s really not something to be proud of, Barton.”

“Aw don’t hurt my feelings Phil. It’s half the reason SHIELD keeps me on the payroll.”

“Hmmm.”

“I bet.” He said, with a lot more certainty than the statement deserved. ”I’m a better thief than Natasha.”

“Hmmm?” She purred, “Really?” She was smiling, yet something dangerous flashed in her eyes.

“Yeah.” He flashed her a lopsided grin.”Stole you from the KGB after all.”

She smacked the backside of his head. The amusement, and maybe something a bit more that she couldn’t quite hide, made it worth it. All of it.

  1. **A Dog**



“NO!”

The scream tore out of his throat, even as he covered his eyes. The screeching of the brakes went straight through him. The heartwrenching yelp even more so. He opened his eyes. No longer able to keep them closed, not now he knew for certain how the ordeal had ended. He started running, not having a care for the traffic that was skidding around him, the drivers still blinded by the rain and trying to dodge the crashed taxi. He nearly slipped on the tarmac and a second later threw himself on the ground anyway, tearing a hole in the knee of his pants. He didn’t care.

“oh no no no no no-”

The yellow mutt was whimpering, that was the only indication it was still alive. It was bleeding. Even with the limited medical training he had, he could see a broken leg. One of its eyes was a mess. Oh God.

He, as gently as he could, cradled the dog to his chest. He struggled upright, fighting against the extra weight and trying to jostle to the dog as little as he could. Despite his best efforts, the dog let out another whimper. Now he held it in his arm, Clint could feel what he had already seen and feared, the dog’s body was broken.

He was going to kill them, he was going to beat them up and throw them into traffic. He was-

“Hey bro, we’re not finished.” One tracksuit said as it staggered upright

“Bro, where you’re taking our dog, bro?” another, younger, tracksuit goon said, having just come outside of the skeevy casino.

“This ain’t your dog, _bro_.” Clint growled.

“Bro -”

Whatever the guy had wanted to say was cut off as another taxi that raced past sprayed up a mighty wave of water, leaving the three goons drenched and sputtering. When they had rubbed the dirt and water out of their eyes, Clint was long gone.

Katie came by the next day.

“Hey, Hawkeye, I brought you some- OH my god is that a dog?!” 

She dropped the groceries right where she stood and marched right to where Lucky laid curled up on one of his sweaters. He and the dog were quite the match, both more covered in bandages than not.

“Ohhh, dear sweetie what happened to you?” she cooed. Then she looked up and frowned at him.

“Clint, _where_ did you get a dog?” She checked his dog tag. “And dit you really name him _Arrow_?”

“No!” He said a bit too loud.”No, I eh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I stole him from the tracksuit mob who threw him into traffic.” 

“They did _what?!_ ’

“His name is Lucky.”

“Oh my god Clint.”

  1. **A Building**



“Kate.”

“Yeah?”

“I stole the building too.”

“ _Clint_.”

  1. **A Horse**



Clint didn’t start the day wanting to steal a horse. Hell, if he had his way he would still be at _home._ Maybe he would’ve even crawled back in bed. But, futzing dr. Doom was having other plans. Clint had been at his Bed-Stuy apartment, showering, when the whole power New York power grid had been turned off, including his heater. 

“What the-” 

Still soapy he stamped out of his shower. He was going to fight his heater, that damned thing had been the bane of his existence the last few days and he was going to make it _pay_. 

Then he noticed his Avengers pager.

He adjusted his plans

He was going to make Doctor Doom pay. He had a new foam arrow he had to test and he just found the perfect target.

He was dressed in not quite yet record time and standing on the roof of his tower and was waiting for an Iron Man express pick up when a doom bot crashed into him.

Right

Apparently today the fight was on his porch.

If these fuckos damaged the new satellite dish he had installed he was going to be _pissed._

They crashed on the street. Clint had managed to twist the robot under him. He slammed one of his electric arrows in the eye socket of the bot and it went limp.

His comm crackled to life.

“Heyy, _Francis_ ,” God he never should’ve told Stark his second name. “after we clean this mess up maybe you can invite us to one of the rooftop bar-b-que you’re always raving about?”

Iron man landed with a crash next to up. Actually cracking the tarmac. He tilted his helmet a little back as he looked at his tower.

“Eh nevermind, this is where you live? God, now I’m really offended that you don’t live at my tower.”

“If you damage it Stark, I’m stuffing all your air vents with glitter.” Clint said pointing with an arrow at Stark, underlining his words.

Stark fake gasped, grabbing at his chest.

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, I _would_ , teeny tiny pieces of purple glitter all over your tower, your lab, your _bedroom_.”

“No worries Hawkeye!” a second, booming voice joined the comms. Thor landed next to them on the street, making an even bigger dent in the tarmac. 

“Together we shall defend your homestead against the devious Doom!” He hefted his hammer as he said so, striking a pose.

He was screwed. His tower was screwed. God had he insured it? Could he insure the tower at all as he had stolen-

Five doom bots flew overhead and the fight started. He didn’t have time to worry over his insurance anymore.

He woke up in a garden. A few figures were standing over him. He groaned.

“-o, it’s Hawkguy.”

“No way bro. That guy can’t fly bro.”

“He didn’t fly bro, he fell.”

What the hell.

Last time he was aware he had been in a scuffle with Doctor Doom, not with the tracksuit gang.

“He waking up bro.”

“Bro where the boss at?”

The figures came into focus and yep, that were unmistakably tracksuits.

“He having some cake bro.”

He moved his hand and touched something sticky, ew. Then it came back to him. Foam arrow.

A doom bot had given him a lift straight up in the air and then futzing _dropped_ him. And, like, _rude._ The thing could at least off him itself instead of letting gravity do the dirty work. Thor and Tony had been too far away to catch him, even as he called out to them. It had seemed he was going have to test his new foam arrow on himself.

Apparently, it had worked. He was alive, had survived the crash.

“Should we get baseball bats, bro?”

Oh shit.

He jumped upright, an arrow drawn and already knocked. The tracksuit goons skittered backwards.

“Bro bro bro bro bro!” 

“What the hell is going on?” The pitch of his voice was a bit higher than he had been going for. He blamed the inevitable concussion.

He was standing in a garden. It was filled to the brim with tracksuits. Most of staring at him actually. Balloons and garlands were haphazardly strewn around. There was a clown, there was a horse, there was cake.

Was this a nightmare? Had he finally conked his head hard enough that the memories of the circus had fused with the horrors of the present? 

“It’s birthday party bro. Gregov born today.”

Oh.

 _Of course_.

Why the hell not?

“Happy Birthday.” He said

“I’m not Gregov.”

“Yeah, I wanna say I care but I really don’t. You guys know I love hanging out with you but I actually have to get back to my _job_.”

In the horizon he could see even more bots flying around. His sharp eyes could just distinguish the red of the Iron Man suit and the silver green bots. It had seen the number of bots had doubled in the time he had been absent. Even from where he was standing he could see the air contorting around one of the bigger robots. The decorative fairy lights flickered in rhythm with whatever the big robot was doing. His hearing aids also whirring with the beat. What the ever-super-EMP was that thing?

“You’re gonna have to walk bro. Crazy robots screwed up all the cars bro.”

What? Oh no he had to get there _now_. It would only be a matter of time before Stark was falling out of the air like a lead balloon. If he was gonna have to go on foot it was going to take ages. He looked around and-

...

“I’m taking the horse.”

“ _Bro.”_

  1. **A Soldier**



The Winter Soldier was in trouble. His metal arm was disabled and the other was stuck to the wall, pinned by one of SHIELD’s - or had some HYDRA bastard designed it? - magnetic cuffs to the wall. 

Clint was perched on one of the rafters, laying on his stomach. They were in one of HYDRA’s Europian airbases. Clint had been somewhere in the middle east when SHIELD imploded in on itself. It hadn’t taken long, with the help of some obscure messages from Nat, to figure out what had happened. 

Instead of making his way back to the US he travelled to Europe. After reading through most of HYDRA’s file Nat had dumped online he found he had a few bones to pick. 

One such bones had been with Robbert had been HYDRA. Bob had screwed him over at secret Santa five years ago, so Bob was going fucking down.

Also, the guy had once conveniently delayed the med-evac for Coulson at their mission in Panama, the one where Coulson had been shot in both shoulder and hip. It had been a very lucky thing Clint was an O- blood type.

“солдат” some HYDRA goon that wasn’t Bob said.

The Winter Soldier growled. And, wow, growling men totally shouldn’t make Clint feel the way he felt. But, the thing is, it did.

Bodies were strewn all around the hangar. Clint had entered the room just after whatever had been happening. This was the last stop where he was gonna plant his charges before he was getting the heck out of dodge. Neither the Soldier or headgoon looked very happy at being here. Still, the Russian guy continued.

“You, de Jong,” - _Bob_ , his mind helpfully reminded him _-_ “Go and see in the database what the protocols are for the acquisition for the Asset while he’s malfunction.”

Malfunctioning? Oh, Clint didn’t like that word. He didn’t like that word one bit. He knew some shit what had happened in DC was related to the fable of the Winter Soldier. He also knew that the situation was complicated as _fuck_ so Natasha hadn’t been able to make it clear using their code words and lines. 

The headgoon continued, his Russian accent obvious now Clint had noticed it.

“He’s programmed. I know there are some trigger words to shut him down, for a while at least. See if you can dig up survivors who still know them."

Clint’s blood had run colder and colder with every word the guy said.

The goon sneered at the Winter Soldier.

“Добро пожаловать обратно на правую сторону, солдат.”

And if that didn't sound like a whole crockpot of shit. Natasha had briefed him all about trigger words. She even suspected that the Red Room had buried one or two in her own mind. Clint also knew all about doing things against your will. And yeah, no, he wasn’t going to stand for this.

He fired two smoke bomb arrows into the ground and slammed a grappling arrow into the beam he was laying on.

The shouting erupted and Clint was already halfway to down to the ground. Still grappling down he shot an explosive arrow to one of the closed bay doors. If they weren’t going to use it as an escape plan it at least served as another distraction.

He landed litely in front of the Winter Soldier.

“Hey.” He said way to cheerful for the situation. He grinned. “Did you know you’re the second assassin I’ve stolen from the Russian mafia?”

Without waiting for an answer he jammed one of his small scale EMP arrows into the magnetic cuff which disabled it. The Winter Soldier immediately cradled his still useless metal arm to his chest, eyeing Clint up as he did so. In any other situation, Clint would be very glad having the full attenion of a guy as hot as the man in front of him. Now, known who he was actually dealing with, it was quite intimidating. The Soldiers eyes paused on his bow. He tensed and Clint started to wonder the wisdom in releasing the boogeyman of every assassin and mercenary when another explosion went off.

They both flinched. Clint covered his head, but the explosion had been further away and no rubble came there way. Alarms were already blaring, having started ringing the moment he shot his own explosive arrow.

The Soldier hesitated a second longer. Once again going over him. Then something changed in his posture. Before Clint could decide what it was the Winter Soldier moved.

“You haven’t stolen shit yet." He grunted. "Charges go off in seven minutes." He turned and disappeared into the already thinning smoke.

Clint didn’t think twice about following.

Damn if they both set up explosions than the fireball was going to be _epic_.

There’d be no way Bob would survive that one.

**+1. A Hawkeye**

God he was so _stupid_.

Why, oh, why why why did he think that that had been a good idea. He ran his hands through his hair. 

So _stupid_.

The streets of Bed-Stuy were deserted. Not really surprising, considering the hour. The streets were still wet from the rain that had stopped hours ago. 

The Avengers had gathered for Steve’s birthday. Of course his actual birthday had been a few days ago, but then they hadn’t been able to celebrate as they had promised to join a few parades around the city. Instead they had all planned to surprise him tonight, just the Avengers and the few other people that Steve come to call friend. The night had started quiet enough. That was until Tony had started beer pong, already buzzed and announcing that no 4th of July party was complete with a game of beerpong, seemingly forgetting it wasn't actually the 4th of July anymore.

Thor and Steve watched, as they were drinking some kind of Asgardian poison apparently, and hadn’t wanted their drinks getting mixed up with their normal booze. Nat and Bucky had just been drinking some liquor, their bastardized super serum still allowing them to get drunk, they just had to work for it. The duo had agreed that if anybody grabbed their drinks and got a moutfull of something stronger than beer instead, well, then that wasn't their problem.

It hadn’t taken long, just two turns actually, for the rest to figure out that Clint really didn’t lie when he said he didn’t miss. Well, of course, Nat knew. That was why she had picked him to be on his team. 

“What, no!” Tony had been pointing him. “That is totally unfair. Sam, you’re on our team now.” Clint had just grinned.

The evening started truly escalating after that, Clint losing more and more of his team members as the rest ganged up on him. That was no problem though, every time it was his turn he just started throwing multiple ping-pong balls, leaving the whole other team to still having to drink. But, now he was up against so many people they would inevitably hit a few of his cups. Okay, a lot of his cups. Just because his aim was the best didn’t mean theirs was bad.

“A truly impressive feat Hawkeye!” Thor had boomed after he had thrown five balls at the same time hitting every cup and clearing the table. The god had landed a heavy hand on his shoulder and it nearly knocked him over. Clint had laughed. He was drunk. He staggered a few steps, bumping against the couch. He could stabilise himself though, totally would’ve stayed upright even if Steve hadn’t grabbed his arm. 

“You alright, Clint?” the Captain had asked with an amused smile on his lips. Still, a bit of worry tinted his eyes.

“Wha, oh sure sure. You know what I want Cap? I want a cup of coffee. That, that will…” He didn’t know how to end the sentence, deciding to just grin instead and hoping Steve could fill in the rest.

Steve raised an eyebrow, but after a second let go off his arm.

“Sure, just be careful.”

Psst, whenever wasn’t he careful?

Clint shot him with finger guns as he walked backwards out of the room, totally in a stable manner. 

Rhodey and Pepper had already folded up the table and cleared the cups. Phil and Sam were agitatedly talking with Tony, who was wearing his sunglasses so unbalanced it only covered one of his eyes, motioning to where Clint had just left Steve standing by the couch. Tony held up his hands defensively. 

“-not my fault tweetie can’t-”

“-started it-”

“-totally smashed.”

Nat and Bucky were talking to each other somewhere in the corner of the room. Just before he disappeared into the kitchen Nat’s gaze fell on him. Time to _go_. He loved Nat, he really did. Only, she always got a bit iffy about his drinking after she learned about his father- and, wow let’s not go to that dark place tonight.

He started a pot of coffee and was reaching for in one of the cupboards for another bottle of liquor to spike the pot with when a metal hand caught his wrist. 

Clint’s heart was suddenly in his throat.

“Don’t you think you had enough?” Bucky said with his lazy Brooklyn drawl.

God even with his fucked hearing he could _hear_ the smirk.

He turned and yep, there was Bucky, with his smoking hot smirk and his two-day stubble and his sparklingly blue eyes and greasy hobo hair that just _worked_. He was wearing a light a grey tank top that was so tight it left little to imagination and a pair of sweats Clint recognised as Steve's and thus had been stretched wide that it was sagging almost indecently at Bucky's hips. 

Clint’s mouth was suddenly _very_ dry.

“Uhh, no, yeah I certainly need another drink now.”

Bucky lazily raised an eyebrow, smirk growing wider.

“Sure.” He said breezily. ”I’ll fix something for ya.”

He uncurled his hand from his wrist and shut the cabinet, promptly shutting Clint off from the bottle of liquor. He grabbed a glass from another cabinet and filled it with water from the sink, before very deliberately placing it in front of Clint.

Clint looked at it. 

Bucky looked at Clint.

“That’s not what I had in mind.” Clint finally said.

“It’s all you’re getting, doll.”

“Well if that’s the case.”

He took up the glass set it at his lips, tipping it and meaning to down it in one go but promptly spilling half of it over his shirt instead. He choked in surprise and doubled over coughing, screwing up his already precarious balance. Aw, water, no. He was tipping, he was going to land flat on his ass and-

And Bucky grabbed both his arm by the biceps and steadied him and suddenly they were standing very close. He froze. They stared at each other, even drunk as he was he could faintly smell the soap Bucky used mixed in with the sharp stench of vodka.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to his lips.

And, and, and.

Fuck he had been so _stupid._

Clint caught Bucky’s lip and kissed him. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t tender, wasn’t lovingly. It had been nearly goddamn desperate and Bucky froze, sucking in a sharp breath and Clint staggered backwards and-

Fuck fuck fuck. 

The first thing he saw was the nearly panicked look in Bucky’s eyes and god _what had he been thinking?_

“Oh my- I’m so- so sorry, Oh fuck.”

The shock momentarily woke him up, enough to find his footing and flee to the elevator.

“Clint!”

Clint didn’t even registrate Bucky calling after him.

So now Clint was wandering around Bed-Stuy, trying to find his way home to his apartment. He had screwed up, just like he always did. It was the whole charade with Bobbi all over again, only this time it was on the fast track, screwed up before it had even properly begun.

Apparently the Winter Soldier he had helped out at the European base around a year (or two?) ago been _the_ Bucky Barnes. Not that Clint had known, hell they had spent a few short weeks together blowing up old HYDRA bases and even a SHIELD one as well, as it had mostly HYDRA squirming around in it.

The Winter Soldier had known all about Hawkeye, and Hawkeye had known enough about the Winter Soldier to be wary. Still, it seemed that they shared a common goal, and as long as that goal remained the same Clint was happy with the team-up. The Soldier was happy with the extra intel that came with Clint, or so he thought, so he didn't get ditched.

It had all ended in Paris, with the media blowing up with pictures of Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier standing side to side under the Arc de Triomphe, staring down a robot that seemed to have walked straight out of a Micheal Bay movie.

Yeah, their team up hadn’t lasted long after that. Natasha had grabbed him by the scruff of his collar four days later, and had nearly got shot by the Winter Soldier for her trouble.

So, the teams got hustled around after that. Clint and Nat focused on burning a few more offensive HYDRA bases on the ground before returning to the US with their gathered intel to help set up Fury’s own and shiny new SHIELD and doing a bit more HYDRA bashing but now under Coulson’s direction. 

Steve and Bucky went… somewhere. Blowing up more bases? going to a spa? A cruise maybe? Hell if Clint knew, he had his own problems. Fury calling in a lot of favours, the heating in his building kept going out, his ex got remarried, and the tracksuit mafia started crawling back their way into Bed-Stuy. And, even if his fantasies featured a new brunette and the way his back curved as he pulled off his t-shirt, or the way his abs had glinted after a shower, well, no harm done right?

Time went on and Clint settled back into the life as both Avenger / Super Spy / Landlord and then without warning Steve was back bringing Winter Soldier with him only the Winter Soldier wasn’t the Winter Solider anymore it had been Bucky Barnes. Or, at least, the new version. The slightly jumpy, punch-happy, grunted-more-than-he-talked Bucky Barnes.

Clint hadn’t really interacted with Bucky the first few days. Nobody had to be honest. For having teamed-up two weeks they hadn’t really talked that much in that time, just had each other's backs, and that had been enough. 

That was until one morning around four thirty when Bucky Barnes had suddenly appeared on the other side of the kitchen island Clint was half asleep on and had nudged one of the two filled coffees he had been holding his way. He hadn’t said anything, probably remembered Clint was useless at lipreading in the barely lit kitchen and certainly not wearing his aids at this hour, or maybe hadn’t wanted to talk at all.

They had sat and drunk their coffee in silence, just like they had done in those few nights in Paris where neither of them could sleep and they both didn’t ask the other why, just watching each other’s back against the same unspoken ice cold the unknowingly both felt.

That night at the tower they guarded each other’s back again, and Clint realised it was nice to know that somebody finally understood.

After that, they had tumbled into a friendship that consisted mostly of shooting contests and throwing things at each other, like insults, popcorn, and movie references Bucky surprisingly often understood. Maybe that hadn’t been all too strange, seeing how often they watched movies together. They kept sharing their coffees too, twice even going out for one. Bucky hadn’t believed that some local coffee shop was selling Hawkeye themed drinks, so of course Clint had dragged him there, because purple milk foam was awesome and Bucky totally had to see it. After that they had actually gone for coffee again because apparently Bucky had heard about some other shop that was selling Hawkeye themed coffee, of course, they had to check that out. The barista hadn’t known what Clint had been talking about, and Bucky had been sniggering as Clint made a fool of himself.

So they hung around each other quite a lot, and, you know, if the fantasies of the certain brunette became a bit more elaborate, a bit more frequent, and a hell of a lot more private, well, that was nobodies else’s business, right? No harm no foul if it was just his own little secret.

But now that illusion was shattered. 

God there was no way he could ever look Bucky in the eye again. God there was no way he could even look _Steve_ in the eye again. 

If he was sobered he just was going to ask Fury for some assignment far away, maybe he could still take that acrobat undercover gig in Latveria and-

He threw himself onto the road and the van barreled past him, right where he had been standing only a moment ago. He tucked into himself and used his momentum to turn the fall into a roll and spring upright. He staggered for a step, the proof that he still had alcohol in his system, and turned. 

The van that had tried to ram him sadly hadn’t crashed. It had only scamped the building, certainly leaving ugly scratch marks at the side but not really hurting either van or passengers. Pity.

He considered running - He only had some shitty throwing knives okay - but, oh, nope there went that plan because another van came screeching into the street and yeah this was _great_.

The second van blocked of the way to his left, and the first van was halfway still parked on the road to the right. Buildings were in front and behind him, which he could scale if the attackers didn’t have guns-

The doors of the first van slid open and the tracksuits spilled out and yep they definitely had guns.

Even as he kept his voice casual he made some minor adjustments to his stance.

“Hey fellas.” He bent his knees. The door of the second van slid open.

“Is this about the horse?”

Headgoon, some bald guy he vaguely recognised hanging around Ivan a lot, folded his arms as more tracksuit guns swarmed out of the van.

“You better not be laughing bro, is serious.”

He pointed at Clint.

“You get into van bro.”

Clint fondled the knife in his pocket, staring down mini Ivan.

“Hmmm, don’t think I will _bro._ Already had a party tonight and it sucked, don’t think yours is going to be any better. But thanks for the invite.”

Five guys in front of him, eight guys to his left. They had guns, there was no cover if he took off to the right. 

Headgoon’s scowl turned into something wicked.

“Wasn’t asking bro.”

The first thing he noticed when he came by was the vibration. The van was still driving then. The second thing he noticed was the pain in his writs caused by the too tight tie wraps. The third thing was the unmistakable feeling of cracked ribs and everything hurt and god Clint hated baseball bats. He was half propped up against the side of the van, like somebody had dropped him there like a bag of potatoes, probably had, and there was a sack over his head.

A little wiggle of his toe confirmed what he had already suspected. His heels were bound together too.

He had hoped they would just rough him up a little and ditch him in a dumpster somewhere. They had done it a few times before actually. Only once before had they actually managed to drag him into a van, and that was when they had threatened to kill him and the whole neighbourhood if Clint didn’t stop his vigilante act.

After that they hadn’t really bothered with kidnappings anymore.

A very small part of Clint wondered what had changed, another part was already planning his escape.

He was wearing the shitty tan BTE that had gotten partially broken when he showered with them two weeks ago. The battery of his purple ones having run out. So with his head leaning against the side of the van he could properly hear the rumble of the engine but discern little beyond that. 

He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and couldn’t move. Hell he didn’t even know who else was with him in the van.

So far for an escape plan then.

They drove for little over an hour. What worried Clint was that they weren’t trying to mask where they were going. They weren’t backtracking or taking unnecessary turns as they had done before. What he could discern was that they were going straight to their destination. Not that Clint had any idea about where they were, having been out for the first period of their little road trip. It wasn’t like they thought he was still out either. They had kicked him in the ribs about ten minutes after he woke, and Clint hadn’t quite been able to stifle the grunt of pain in response. 

It just meant that when they finally properly stopped that Clint had no idea where they were. Until they opened the door and immediately salty air assaulted his nostrils. They were at the docks then. He didn't have time to think about what that implicated before he was roughly dragged out of the van and uncerimously thrown out. Another "oof" escaped him as he hit the slimy ground. Somebody dragged the sack from his head and he blinked.

Mini Ivan was standing in front of him together with two goons. They were in a deserted warehouse, windows even boarded shut. He could vaguely hear some other people scuttling behind him but he couldn't hear the other van. 

"Andrey you get in trouble bro. Ivan said we don't take him without plan." One of the goons said to Headgoon. Even someone as deaf as Clint could hear the nervousness. Even more, he could see it. The guy was actually wringing his hand in his sweatshirt.

"Hey if this is about not bringing a gift to Gregov's birthday that wasn't really my fault, you guys hadn't even invited me." He quipped.

Some tracksuit that had been standing kicked him again, this time against his leg so it didn't hurt as much. "You better be quiet bro, you in some deep shit bro." the goon hissed.

Clint shrugged, so far as his still prone and bound position allowed at least. 

"Story of my life. Hasn't managed to shut me up so far."

"We gonna help with that bro." Headgoon, Andrey? Turned his attention to Clint. He pulled out gun from his waistband and with faked nonchalance squatted in front of Clint. Meaning that Clint had to crane his head way to far backwards to look at him. He did it anyway, didn't fancy getting his hair pulled today. 

"We gonna help real good. Ivan? Ivan is scared bro. He is _трус_." He spat the last word like it disgusted him. "He think Avengers gonna kill em bro. But I tell him- I tell him Avengers don't kill bro, they only catch. And prison? Bro we run prison."

Headgoon got more agitated with every word he said. He was swinging his gun around that would surely get his license revoked if some gun instructor ever saw it. Not that the guy was even licensed. He was breathing heavily through his nostrils at the end and had a look in his eyes that Clint even like less than the words the guy said. It was the look of the guy who was going to do something real stupid while real angry. 

"If you're going to do what I think you want to do it won't be state prison they sent you to Andrey."

For once Clint made sure he was speaking slowly and carefully. For whatever reason this guy was going against his boss' order, and the other guys weren't completely on board. Maybe, for once, he could actually talk his way out of this one.

"They're going to hand you guys straight over to SHIELD, and SHIELD is going to make sure you won't ever see anything else but the little six by eight box fridge they're shoving you in." 

“Bro you-”

“ _But_ if you just walk away right now this whole thing will stay between us okay? Just, the bro’s and Hawkeye, like we always-”

Andrey pistol-whipped him, hard. His head got smashed to the side and the hearing in his left ear completely went out, stars danced in front of his eyes and _when would people finally stop going for his ears?_

“S--t -p Bro.”

“Andr-- m--b- -- right bro. -- go. Ivan --”

“I’m no _трус_ , bro _._ ”

The click that followed was Clint could recognise even with half his hearing. He looked up again and he was staring right into the barrel of the gun and-

and the door exploded as the second white van came crashing into the warehouse. 

Clint wasted no time and rolled to the left, out of the direct line of fire from headgoon’s gun. Now laying on his back with and his hands thus under him he managed to position himself to kick at headgoon, intertangling their legs before pulling them back in again and tripping him. Headgoon lost his balance and fell to the ground at the same time the van crashed against a wall with a loud bang.

“Bro bro bro!”

The van door slid open and a tracksuit unceremoniously fell out of it, seemingly unconscious. Before Clint could even think _what the fuck_ a second figure appeared. The Winter Soldier stepped from the van, avoiding the body without even looking at it.He was holding another unconscious - or death to be honest - guy by the scruff of his collar with his left hand and in his right hand he held one of his rifles, for now pointed at the ceiling.

And, whatever Clint had been expecting, it hadn’t been that.

Bucky scanned the scene in front of him, a few goons had were now pointing their gun at him. He counted seven left, including the one Clint had already worked to the ground. 

“Five.” He said.

“Bro who are you.”

“Bro we shoot.”

“Four.” 

“You better drop weapon bro.”

“We kill you-”

“Three.” He dropped the unconscious guy he’d been holding, the metal of his hand catching the light as the became visible.

“Bro you-”

“Is that a metal hand?”

“Bro is he Avenger?”

“Bro it’s-”

“Two.” He lowered the rifle, now holding with two hands, his hand clearly visible for anyone who was still doubting. Surely _Russians_ would know.

“Bro it’s _Зимний Солдат._ ”

“He don’t exist, right?”

“Bro _he standin right there._ ”

“Bro we-”

“One.” He cocked the rifle and the goons dropped their weapons and raised their hands.

“Bro bro bro bro we just screwing around-”

“We ain’t even supposed to be here bro.”

He ignored them and marched to the goon Clint had wrestled to the ground. He scrambled backwards, sweat glinting on his brow and wide eyed. 

“Bro is just joke-”

His hand slipped on something and the goon fell on his back and couldn’t get away anymore.

The Winter Soldier aimed

“Zero.” 

“Bucky _don’t-_ ” Clint called out.

He fired.

And Clint couldn’t get up because he was still bound and could only watch as dirt exploded and wait where was the blood?

Bucky grabbed him by the throat and the goon whimpered. Not death then, he then realised that Bucky had shot the dirt beside the guy head instead.

“Death.” Bucky said and it sent shivers, and not the good kind, down Clint’s spine. He could only imagine how Andrey was feeling. 

“Now.” Bucky released him and Andrey landed heavy on the ground with another whimper. “You go.”

And you know, for somebody that kept on claiming he wasn’t coward he sure as hell didn’t look brave as he scampered after the rest of the tracksuit goons to the van that hadn't crashed. Not that he blamed him. The Winter Soldier was terrifying. 

Bucky watched the van leave the warehouse with squealing tires. Then he turned to Clint.

“ _You._ ” He growled through clenched teeth and oh. Bucky marched to him, hands balled into fists at his side. The Winter Soldier looked emotionless, Bucky often looked indifferent or like he was planning your murder. Clint couldn’t remember a time where Bucky had truly looked hot-rage angry, until now at least.

Clint gladly would’ve taken his chances with the tracksuit goons in the van, even if they had probably - definitely - just tried to kill him. Problem, he was still bound like in the stupid tie-wraps.

“--- are act--- _worse_ than Steve.” He continued growling.

“Bucky i’m sorry-”

Bucky crouched next to him and pulled out a knife from somewhere and Clint wasn’t very proud to say his stomach dropped. He was close enough that he could clearly hear what he was saying.

“First you not only get way too drunk.” He grabbed Clint’s wrists in an unforgiving grip with his metal hand. “Then you finally grow some balls and _kiss_ me.” With one swift movement, he cut through tie wraps and his wrists were free. “And instead of you know, letting me explain that I wasn’t quite prepared for my first kiss in seventy years to be with a fella too drunk to even stand properly on his own, you fucking run off!” He moved to his bound ankles and grabbing them even more tightly “Not only that though, no, that wouldn’t be enough would it? No, then you get your stupid ass freaking kidnapped by some weird Bratva gang, and have me chasing you down through New York. All because you couldn’t be _assed_ ” he cut through tie wraps holding his ankles together.”to have a proper conversation.”

Clint just stared.

“...so you’re not mad I kissed you?”

“I, uhg-.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m mad that you had to be drunk to do it. I’m mad that you ran off after. I’m _mad_ -”

He leaned closer and balled Clint’s shirt in his fist. He pulled him closer and their lips brushed against each other and then, then Bucky kissed him. He kissed him like Clint _hadn_ ’ _t_ kissed him. It was gentle, soft, lovingly, it was like Clint hadn't been kissed for a very long time. And, _oh_. 

Way to soon Bucky pulled back.

“I’m mad it wasn’t like that.” He breathed.

“Well.” Clint said. “Now I’m kinda mad it wasn’t like that too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading guys <3  
> Kudos and comments are my sustenance and fuel my happiness meter (well, writing does that too <3 )
> 
> I hope to see you guys soon with an update to my other story!
> 
> Also, I have a  tumblr  now!


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